Wicked Game
by brookeisabaddie
Summary: "They were everything and absolutely nothing to each other." Bellamy/Clarke SMUT. (REVIEW and share opinion so I know if I should continue or not. Thank you!)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

There was nothing more terrifying than the look in the blonde's eye as she crossed the camp in her fur pelted boots and worn jacket. He watched the way her footsteps landed and then his eyes drifted upwards. Her strong legs were a welcoming sight—something he hoped to have wrapped around him by the end of the night—and the way her ass looked caused him to smirk.

Earth had done wonders for Clarke Griffin's figure and Bellamy Blake was captured by her unforeseen enticement. He played the victim role surprisingly well as she teased him with bewitching looks and sickeningly sweet caresses. But he would be pretending to be coy if he said that's where the line was drawn. There wasn't a line—because they'd crossed over a dangerous wall and they were in enemy territory every moment they spent in the hazardous area labeled _Desire. _

It wasn't like they didn't know it was wrong.

But maybe that's what they liked about it…how wrong it was and how good in felt.

The shame they carried every time they parted only added to the unsettling feeling each other's touches brought. He'd never understand how something could be _sexy _and bring on such _self-disgust. _He found himself walking around the camp, his mind replaying her moans and occasional screams like music. He would close his eyes and swear he was never going to let himself go like that again—he would say that he couldn't let himself go like that because he had to be strong and she was…

What was she?

Her hard slap across his face reminded him what she was—who she was. "You're a jackass, you know that?"

He grabbed her wrist as she prepared to slap him again, "No." If she'd seen the look in his eyes once, she'd seen it a hundred times. He _wanted _her. He was lusting for her and she had all the power in her hands. She stepped forward, her mouth parting as she smirked at him.

The anger she held in her subsided—she knew it would return, it always returned with the other emotions followed by what they did. She also knew it was sick how her mind went over battle strategies during these moments. She knew all of his weaknesses—her tongue carried the ammo necessary to obliterate his entire defense but she didn't make a move. She wasn't going to start the battle this time—she'd surrendered last time and she'd been damned if she ever did it again.

It was odd how the eyes could contain unspoken emotions. Her blue orbs burned holes into him with a fiery persistence he would never get used to. He checked his surroundings like a good soldier before pulling her into Camp Jaha's armory by her wrist. His grip wasn't soft—then again, she never liked it when he was easy with her like she was a child. She got enough of being treated like a child from her overbearing mother.

His hands swept across Raven's work station, knocking her papers and tools to the ground with a loud crash. Raven would kick both of their asses if she knew about it—but something in Bellamy's smugness told her that no one would ever know what really happened between them. She removed the jacket, tossing it on the ground as she stalked forward like a lioness. He was quick to follow her lead as she ridded herself of the meddlesome clothing. A low growl pushed through Bellamy's lips as he took her in—every curve, every dip, every scar was already saved to his memory (even if he wanted to erase it sometimes.)

There were things he knew about Clarke that _no one _else would ever know, things that could only be brought out in their _type _of relationship. They didn't love each other—sometimes, they didn't even like about each other. Hell, he knew there were times when he hated her…hated the way she made him feel, hated the way her voice sounded, the way she got under his skin… This relationship they hated to enjoy was based off of one unwanted thing—hunger. He craved her every hour of every day and he wanted it to stop—he begged it to stop.

He begged it to stop up until the point where he begged her to scream his name.

Clarke was a princess around here. He was far from royalty. She followed every rule. He knew just how to bend them. There days of being friendly leaders had passed and she'd rolled over and accepted it—he never could. He wanted to knock off the crown she despised on her head…wanted to walk away and never kiss her the way he was kissing her now.

Their friction could start fires in such a dangerous place but neither one cared about danger when they were stuck in the moment. He broke their kiss long enough to leave her wanting more and returned for seconds before repeating the process. She berated his actions with her hand—or her nails, more so. He felt the sting of her fingernails digging into the back of his neck as he picked up her body, throwing her carelessly on the table. He didn't give a damn about her pain.

He felt her moan into his mouth when he pushed his weight on her, the vibration keeping him steady as he pushed further down. Her hips bucked up into him as he slid between her legs, feeling the wetness she'd accumulated for him—only him. He was greedy about things such as that—because he'd made sure it was always _only him. _He couldn't threaten the people he worked with to stay away from her…no that would make people question the status of their relationship—it would give them hope for a reunited partnership that he couldn't agree to as long as she was _Clarke Griffin _and his was _Bellamy Blake. _

He grinded into her, eliciting multiple sounds from her and a few choice words. His arm rested on his elbow by her head as he made eye contact with her. It was sadistic how this got him off—her eyes changing from the eyes of a seductress, to the eyes of an innocent angel underneath him. Why did she do that? She always did that…

If she could control her eyes he wouldn't feel so guilty afterwards. Her eyes, much like her moans, wouldn't haunt him like they were out for his blood. He always knew she deserved better than this when she fixed her azure eyes on him like that. He cursed himself for _caring _about her. He didn't care about any other girl he'd ever slept with (not that he was sleeping with anyone but Clarke…she'd made sure she was the only one, too) so, why did he have to care about her?

Her eyes closed as she shook under him. He smiled into her neck as he kissed her affectionately before releasing into her. She eyed him for a second, "What are you waiting for—leave." She demanded coldly before he got off of her, throwing on his clothes and stealing one last glance at her. "I know. Last time."

He nodded knowing damn well it wasn't the last time. It was never the last time.

Clarke cleaned herself up but didn't clean the mess Bellamy made out of Raven's desk. That sick part of her that Bellamy brought out made her want to hear Raven's reaction. She wanted to see how angry she would get—wanted to see her struggle to figure out who did it before giving up and returning back into her workspace. She tightened her jacket around her body, zipping it up. She was glad there weren't mass amounts of mirrors in Camp Jaha—sometimes she felt as if she would punch every single one out if she could see how stupid she looked.

She had to put distance between her and Bellamy before she embarked on the reason she sought him out in the first place. He was being a jackass towards the council again and he was going to get himself exiled or killed if he kept it up. They weren't friends—not anymore, at least. Friends don't make friends feel completely out of control and sexy and desirable…at least, no friend Clarke had ever had before. They were more than friends, less than in love.

They were everything and absolutely nothing to each other.

It was as if they were cursed from the start. His eyes met hers and it was all over—the story should have ended there because that's the moment their lives started this downward spiral into present day. His lips met hers and for a brief second she believed they had a _connection _that there was something redeemable in herself but there was darkness—just darkness that Earth had casted on her. And then their hearts collided like two a-bombs—everything was destroyed and the second they detonated there were no survivors.

They would be the only causalities as long as they both kept their dirty little secret.

But—then again, only two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

They brought out the worst in each other—with Bellamy it was hatred, uncontrollable lust, and jealousy and with Clarke it was recklessness, disgust, and anger. Why did they keep coming back to each other if they were well acquainted with the monsters their _thing _created? It wasn't logical and occasionally, they both longed for logical.

Take for instance, the second Bellamy was practically forced to sit by her at the weekly camp dinner. It was one of the most wasteful things they'd ever done in their lives but they were required by "law" to do it so, they reluctantly complied—Clarke more willingly than Bellamy. Everyone in the camp squeezed next to each other at the tables, which were fashioned from the cypress trees and scrap metal. They were so close. As in, touching. His arm brushed against her abnormally exposed skin as he tried to eat quickly and flee just as quickly.

Not just because of their shameful sexual escapades but because they didn't do _this _anymore. They were no longer the type of people to share a meal while discussing political moves and battle plans. They'd grown out of each other—become different people entirely because they had to be _different _to survive. He couldn't bark orders at their people anymore because the council would register him as a threat to their "way of life" and she couldn't be who she used to be because her clearance was high and if she started falling back into her old routine she'd end up dead or exiled for "treason"

They did everything in the name of survival—broke each other down, slammed each other into walls, scratching and biting until blood was drawn and it seemed like they would be _fine. _

They'd rather burn down everything around them and watch each other waste away before they admitted they were not _fine_. They'd rather have constant hate sex—not because they hated one another, necessarily, but because they hated the people they had to be—than face the problem like the leaders they once were.

It was only be design that Bellamy was sitting at a table with her and her council wannabe friends. Abby, Kane, Jaha and the other "important people" didn't let her at the table with the adults even though she was pushing nineteen. It disgusted him to watch her with these people—it actually made him ill to see this side of her. Her diplomatic smile and casual conversation made him want to grab a fistful of her hair and pull until the real blonde spitfire he knew all too well graced his presence. He was being jealous and possessive every time she opened her mouth to speak—letting out small noises that told her to _just stop. _Clarke wasn't the type to grant favors for him unless it was sexual favors so she continued her charade as an elitist with a superiority complex.

She didn't have to look at him to know how annoyed he was—she felt it. She felt it by the way his skin pressed into hers, how his muscles were tightened and how his jaw was clenched. She wrapped up her conversation, returning to her food. He relaxed slightly, still aggravated by _her_—the girl she desperately had to be for the sake of _image. _

If he hadn't stopped to talk to Miller as he finished his shift, he wouldn't have been late and the only seat (besides the seat Miller's dad reserved for his son) wouldn't have been next to her. He cursed Miller's timing—cursed his own distracted mind because he'd been thinking about her like a fool and lost track of time before he ran into his former lieutenant.

He felt her hand move to his knee underneath the table as he started moving his foot rapidly with his resurfacing anger. "Stop." She commanded quietly. Her snob peers didn't notice her hard words at all. Bellamy thought they should pay more attention to her when she sounded the way she did—but they've probably never seen her with a weapon and eyes set to kill.

"Make me." She looked at him with beautifully shocked eyes, clearly affected by his low seductive voice. He put his fork in his mouth, arching his eyebrow to look at her smugly. He enjoyed when he could catch her off guard and trigger a reaction. It was for reasons like this one why it was never the last time... There was too many chemical reactions in their bodies when they got caught up in simple moments to ever stop. It was easy to fake happiness—fake confidence like it hadn't been stolen from them when they fell under the spell of each other. She rolled her eyes, dropping her hand from his knee and placing it on her lap. "You're never _fun, _Clarke." He knew his statement was a complete lie. If sexual spontaneity was his definition of fun, she was certainly _fun_.

"I'm lots of fun." Clarke countered, "I'm just not going to get you all excited during a mandatory dinner." The look in her eyes told him that's exactly what she wanted to do. She was going to make him beg for it, she wanted him on his knees but he wasn't going to play her game. He was _mad _at her—not the other way around. She didn't get to be in charge of him. His hand took hers from under the table, placing her palm against his thigh. It was the things like this that made her lose all sense of control. She leaned into him, compelled by his boldness and appetite for her touch. He took this as consent to continue his little game. He controlled her hand in tantalizingly slow motions as her palm brushed up his leg. He continued slowly until she felt his hard cock under his jeans. "Knowing that I can make you…like this…is like a power high that I've been missing."

They made eye-contact and he saw her dilated pupils and her sincere blush. "You seem pretty powerful to me, princess." He said half-bitterly, half-suggestive towards their current situation. "Come over tonight." He was making demands.

"Depends." She responded as if it were a question. Clarke curved her hand, applying the tinniest amount of pressure to him. "How bad do you want me to come over?"

"As if you don't already know…" She moved her fingers to massage him. "Careful princess." He huffed before she withdrew her hand and left him pining for more. He knew it was a good thing she stopped before he got carried away—or before she got carried away. They both had a tendency of getting carried away.

"I'm never careful with _you_." She said with an intensity that caused Bellamy's mouth to drop open. She couldn't pin-point the reason why she suddenly felt breathless but she could hear his breathing hitch as her hand crept back to his knee. "I prefer to be rough…" She trailed up and down his leg while speaking into his hear. "What do you want me to do to you tonight?" She purred, her eyes darting around them as she checked to see if they were being watched. Her fingers went to play in his hair but she stopped. "I don't want to wait."

"Shhh…" He silenced her with a hard squeeze of her thigh. "You're winning."

"I know." She moaned, "Please…take me."

"Clarke." He begged, "Thirty minutes and this event is over and I will fuck you so hard that you won't be able to stand. Just stop teasing right now." He didn't know how he always ended up begging in some sort of way—it just happened. He thought about it once, how he constantly told himself that he would never beg and how he always ended up begging and decided it what made it…good. The fact that he lost himself, the fact that she stole his control is what made the experience _addicting. _

She placed a quick kiss on his shoulder—an unusual move for her. "You promise?"

"Son of a bitch." He groaned before standing up quickly and bolting out of her view. Finally, people looked at her.

She lied easily, "He's sick. I should check on him." Clarke had been demoted from head-medic to a simple nurse because she lacked the _proper training_. It was absolute bullshit. The path she took was the long way to Bellamy's quarters, more out of habit than anything. Her hands fidgeted while she walked—was she nervous?

Clarke spent a lot of time hiding how nervous Bellamy Blake made her. She would hide the nauseating heat in her stomach that pooled when she was around him—a heat he could only put in her, a heat that was called _Bellamy_ after its imperfect creator. If she didn't have the proper training to be a medic rather than a nurse…she had the proper training to be a master of hate sex. It was treacherous how she could hold onto so much resentment and rejection as if those were the only emotions she was allowed to have.

Truth be told that Clarke not only felt _disgust _after she fucked Bellamy but she still felt the tattered connection between the two. She hated to sound like a cliché, but it was always electric. He was the sweetest heroin, the hardest cocaine and the best moonshine she'd ever tasted and she was dangerously hooked. He would kiss down her skin, groan her name and make her _so _hungry—so confused.

His hands would wrap around her waist and her head would hit whatever surface he decided to push her against and she would feel the fear for the concentration in his eyes but feel the safeness that told her he would never take it too far—he would never purposely hurt her unless she was _wanting it. _

It was the dilemma she faced every second she walked closer to certain death—why did she keep doing this to herself? Their expiration date was upcoming and she knew they would eventually let go of the last pieces of their old life—each other and this manic affair (not that the affair was part of their old life.) She felt like a prisoner to her own selfish wants and she was the one holding the key between her teeth. She could open her mouth and tell him that it was the last time and this time she meant it but she didn't have that type of strength anymore.

There she was claiming she wanted it to end but she didn't. She was a fraud, all this hate for the status of her relationship with him wasn't real. She enjoyed it far too much. She enjoyed how he broke down before her, all the speeches he'd made about forgetting her and forgetting _this _crashing down like his lips on hers and his inhibitions melting like sugar because the sweat the created soaked every bone like rain.

He enjoyed it just as much as she did. He liked watching her panic when they were in public places, he liked the way her mouth twitched when she wanted to yell at him, he liked how her eyes controlled his every action, and he liked how he could _never forget _who he used to be when he was on top of her.

She stood before his door, opening it without knocking because she didn't have to knock when she wanted him. He'd pulled his shirt off, a thin droplet sliding down his bare body—she watched it, biting her lip with anticipation for the night. "Come here." He growled and it was all over. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he struggled to keep his balance. He walked backwards, sitting on his bed with her straddling him.

They were caught up in deep kisses and frantic moves.

Could he sense the disaster forming in the distance? Could he hear the way her heart pounded like a war drum and taste the blood of innocence on her tongue as he kissed her? Could he feel her body flex like a warrior against his impatient hands? Could he smell the fire and gunpowder in her hair as his finger knotted in it?

And what about her—could she sense the upcoming battle between right and wrong? Could she hear the screams of those they would lose? Could she feel their hearts stopping beneath her hands or could she only feel his hand unclasping her bra? Could she see the faces of the thousands of people that would be affected by the divide or was her mind only focused on his rock hard member pressed against her thighs?

It was hard to fake oblivion when everything they ever did was a fight. The thunder of the upcoming storm caused them to break their kiss, the lightning pulsing through the veins caused them to make startling eye contact. He pressed their foreheads together as they savored the moment before there was no return to the simplicity of it all. "It can't be like this forever, you know?" He said before he flipped her on to her back. "Fucking and forgetting that we once cared a lot more than we do now."

The answer to the questions above were no—no they didn't see it coming, no they didn't know something was brewing but they _should _have. There they were thinking the storm was _them. _It'd been easier if the storm was _them _but it couldn't be…he had to be the start of a rebellion.

It had to be a rebellion they unintentionally started but fully believed in.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Clarke locked the bathroom door and looked at herself in the fragments of the mirror. She felt like she was going to throw up—anxiety causing her to gag as she fell to her knees on the hard floor beneath her feet. She held her blonde hair in a tight grip which only reminded her how Bellamy liked to pull her hair and how she liked it when Bellamy pulled her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut as she cried audibly because of her regret.

_Why did I keep doing this to myself? _

_He'll never love me…_

_He'll never want me…_

_I'm falling apart…_

_Oh my god…_

She grabbed the bottle she kept behind the cabinet under her sink. She tipped her head back, ignoring the tears in her eyes as she swallowed Monty's moonshine. Her throat burned but not as bad as her eyes burned.

_You're not an alcoholic…_

_But you want to be—god, you want to be. _

She took another sip and put it back behind the spare towels before standing up from her position. This was rock bottom for her. She had to hit this moment before she could stand up, brush the dirt off of herself and be strong. She still hadn't warned him against his behavior that triggered the first session.

XXX

Her new friend, Westland Laine walked over to the medical table and sat down. He was an arrogant bastard—one that her mother liked. She could hear her mother's voice behind her, "Westland…what's wrong?" She asked with her superior smile.

"I think I twisted my ankle." He winked at Clarke, "Griffin do you want to eat with me tonight?" She was half inclined to slap him across his face—not the way she slapped Bellamy either. When she slapped Bellamy, she was asking for him to hurt her in the ways that she liked to be hurt. If she were to slap Westland, it would be because she _really _disliked him.

Her mother answered for her, "Of course she does."

Clarke frowned while Westland announced his ankle was all better. "I don't like him." Clarke stated flatly, "I don't appreciate being pawned off for less than a goat." Her cultural reference went right over Abby's head as she looked at her daughter.

"You're going to go out with him. He's a decent guy and if you're with him people will stop questioning why you aren't putting down roots here." Her mother didn't give her time to respond, "I have to make my rounds. Organize the storage room, please."

XXX

Clarke threw her head back as his kisses tore trails of fire down her neck, her hands gripped the shelves in the medical storage room as he drove into her with all of his strength—all of his desire and raw need. She cried for him, screamed for him in the pitch black of the night because no one would ever hear her and no one would ever know. "Fuck." She whimpered before she crashed around him.

Their clothes were pushed away from the places their hands fiercely wanted to touch but they hadn't been completely torn off in their heated moment. She put one of her hand in his hair, her fingers sliding into the damp strands and causing his disheveled curls to rise across his forehead until they were pressed against the top of his head. She peered at him as he closed his eyes tightly, his face falling on her shoulder. Her fingers moved through his hair until she placed a hand on the back of his neck.

He panted against her, "As I was saying, I'll do as I please. Don't try to tell me differently." He pulled his clothes back to their appropriate location and glared at her. "No smartass comment?"

"I'm late for something." Clarke said, "I just wanted to tell you to keep your head down. Since you won't, my work is done." She slid her bra strap up with a _pop _as the elastic went into place. She moved her breast slightly when she grabbed the underwire and shifted the bra in place. "You do as you please. Message received."

"Is something wrong?" He didn't want to ask the question but he had to know why she looked the way she looked.

"No." She said, "I'm late for something."

"For what?"

"A date—okay? I have a date." She met his eyes and saw the _jealousy _and his rage. He wanted to say something cruel, it was on the tip of his tongue but he didn't say anything. She hated his silence, she needed him to rip her apart with that sharp tongue that he had. "Say something…" She begged when he stepped away from her.

"You're dating?" He asked with a steeled expression, "That's nice. What kind of person has sex at their job before a date?"

"I hate you!" She screamed, pushing him with her strong hands. "Everything about you…you are the lowest person I've ever met."

"You must not look in the mirror too often, Clarke." He said coldly.

She slapped him one, two, three times on the chest before she huffed. "Why would I look in the mirror when you make me disgusted with myself?" She cried, "I hate you! I hate you so much but I hate myself more because I hate you!" She slapped him once more before she backed away from him. "And I hate you because I l_oved _you."


End file.
